Morgain's Revenge - Laura Anne Gilman [44]
The hooded figure leaned in, inspecting Ailis the way a cook might have inspected a chicken brought in from the yard. “What is it about you that is of such import?”
Ailis could only shake her head, unable to even stutter out a disclaimer. She had been working with Morgain most of the morning, helping her set up preparations for a major working. This was the first spellwork Ailis had been allowed to watch. She had felt a strange combination of nerves and excitement which had led to her needing to stretch her legs a bit.
Clearly, leaving the workroom had been a mistake. But if Morgain had known that the shadow-figure had returned, why had she not said anything about it that morning when they began their work? And if the danger from this person had passed…
No, the danger certainly had not passed. The danger was right here now. Every instinct she had—ordinary and magical—was screaming at her to turn and run. But there was nowhere to run—nowhere to hide that this creature could not find her. Ailis knew that the way she knew her own breath.
“Tell me, child. Tell me what you are, that I should feel moved to see you again. That I must take note of you, and weave you into my plans.”
“I…I don’t know.” The words were torn from her throat; the sensation of claws dragging along the flesh of her neck and mouth was so real she could almost taste the blood welling up and splashing her tongue.
“She is no one.”
The relief Ailis felt at hearing Morgain’s voice behind her was immeasurable. She would be happy to be no one, of no importance forever, if that figure would just stop staring at her. All Ailis wanted was to turn tail and hide behind Morgain’s woolen skirts, like a child threatened by a snarling dog running home to its mother.
The shadow-figure’s attention was not so much distracted as split. Ailis could feel the power of a cold wind, but it expanded to include the sorceress as well.
“You are a fool, Morgain. Would you jeopardize all that you have worked for? Delicate wheels are in motion, at your command. Do you hesitate now?”
“I am not hesitating,” Morgain said, her voice still and hard, like the woman Ailis had first encountered, the cold and powerful sorceress Morgain Le Fay, scourge of Camelot. “All will be as we have planned it. Arthur will feel the weight of my hatred, and I shall have my revenge. The witch-child does not change that. The witch-child changes nothing you need be concerned with.”
Ailis almost stopped breathing, willing them both to forget she existed.
“You think not. You know nothing. Fool mortal. Fool woman. Allow this, and all your plans will come to nothing. Arthur will gain the Grail, and you will fade from history, forgotten and unmourned.”
The air in the hallway seemed to grow even colder, and Morgain drew herself up to her full height—a warrior-queen afraid of nothing, beholden to no one. Her face twisted in anger, the even white teeth suddenly showing like the fangs of the great cat she kept as a pet. “I am your hostess. I am she who called you to these shores. Forget that at your own peril.”
Ailis still couldn’t breathe. She didn’t dare breathe. Warrior-queen or no, evil sorceress or no, couldn’t Morgain feel how dangerous this stranger was? It was like keeping a dragon on a jeweled leash; fine until the dragon tired of the game and snapped the leash and devoured you in one bite.
“You know nothing of peril,” the figure spat.
“I know everything of peril,” Morgain spat back. “Do not push, Old One. I brought you to these shores, and I can still send you hence.”
A hiss from the shadow-figure, a warm note of anger cutting through the cold wind, and when Ailis blinked, it was gone.
Morgain muttered something in a language Ailis did not know, but the girl could agree with the thought it conveyed, and sighed in relief.
Then Morgain let out a deep breath, and turned to face Ailis. Her